It had taken every year between the age of 12, until 43 for Dominique (brunette) and Sandra (blonde) to get to this moment. They had always been rivals. Always been enemies. Going to the same schools. Working in the same offices. Chasing after the same men. Never letting an opportunity pass to insult each other, one-up each other, embarrass the other in the worst ways possible.

Finally, it had all led to this – a catfight on the carpet in Sandra’s living room. A conflict planned over text message, in the two women’s first conversation since junior high school. They each promised that they would hurt and wound – pull hair and scratch – smother and strangle the other … and they will. Of that there is no doubt.

But as their fight begins, they do none of those things – finding themselves compelled by desires they do not understand to hold onto and press into each  other – slowly grinding their breasts together – first to the left, and then to the right. And though they have always wished for the other to be gone from their life forever, each cling tightly – clasping their hands around the back of their rival – desperate to keep them there – terrified that they might run. Terrified that whatever their feud has meant, after all these many years – that all the passions and hate they have each felt for each other, will be suddenly stolen away. That this moment, whatever shape it may take, will end without satisfaction – without their demons being purged.

Neither rival must tightly wrap their legs around those of their enemy’s, using calf and thigh muscles to grip and hold on to one another. For they each want this, more than either can say or admit. Needing to feel their tits press into their foe’s, and their stomach flatten against stomach. And though they may push and pull, rolling this way and that, locked together their bodies will stay, not because they cannot escape, but because they do not want to. They have found their heaven - their bliss, and it is in combat, and close-contact with the woman who plagues their every thought, and haunts their every dream.

A single arm stuck through the thighs of her rival, is enough to turn this seemingly mutual head scissor into a far more one-sided move. Even a maneuver as subtle as that, may be the difference between victory and defeat – dominance and submission. And often, it is the matches won by the smallest of errors, or won by the tiniest of margins, where the winner truly punishes their rival – doing so to discourage them from demanding another fight. 

I really like this design a lot.

Made with a .5mm mechanical pencil on sketch paper.

I don’t know how to use watercolors at all or how to color in general but here is a step towards getting better.

Made with a .5mm mechanical pencil, micron pens, and watercolors materials, on smooth bristol paper.

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